Allegiance: A Dublin Novella (9 page)

William’s confusion overrode his tongue. “Aren’t you
—
I mean, won’t there be a raid, sir?”

Christopher slid his spectacles into his breast pocket and looked at William for the first time since he entered the office. “No, there will not. I have no intention of raiding that munitions pickup, and I have never had any intention of doing so.” Seeing the expression that flooded William’s face, the Director threaded his fingers together on the desktop and curled his mouth into a sour line.

“Allow me to explain something to you, agent. This office is an agency of His Majesty’s Empire, not some local village constable. I am not interested in the petty trading of illiterate hatchet men. I want to know who is pulling the strings. I want to know whose devotion belongs to De Valera rather than Collins. These intractable zealots are the reason I am trapped in this godforsaken runt of a nation, and I intend to stamp them out with everything that is in my power. Am I making myself clear to you?”

William stared at him, aghast.

“You will go back to these people, and you will stay with them. You will accompany them on their little endeavors. You will aid them, and you will build their confidence. Nothing will be done to hinder you. I have agents in every corner of this city, and I know that something larger is coming. In time, one of you will learn what that something is. You will report it to me. And I will reel every fish into my net, great and small alike, in one pull. I shan’t fill the jails; I shall fill the gallows. And I will be the Director who brought order to Dublin.”

Christopher shifted in his chair, and some of the bitter light faded from his eyes. “You are a promising agent, Young. You take orders without question, and you know your place despite your education.” He gave William a thin, brittle smile. “I would imagine you harbor dreams of sitting on this side of the desk one day, yes? Detective Chief Inspector Young, making safe the streets of your precious Glasgow?” He reached for his brandy snifter and regarded William over its rim. “I can help you with that.”

William thought for a moment that he might be sick. He gripped the arms of the chair until the wave of nausea passed. He thought of the “illiterate hatchet men” with whom he had spent the past six weeks – people who were merely means to Christopher’s ambitious ends, tools to be used and discarded when broken. He looked at the Director’s face and, for the first time since he had been given this assignment, William felt afraid. His nightmare flashed into life behind his eyes, and he blinked to clear his mind of that pale waxy face. He had no choice now but to stay where he was. But one thing was certain: he would find a way keep these people from whatever larger danger was to come, out of harm’s way and out of Christopher’s firing line.

As soon as he finished the thought, guilt hit William square in the chest. This was double-dealing, duplicity – disobeying the spirit of his orders, if not the letter. It was not the behavior of a keeper of the law. But it was the only way, if this thing was to end as it should – he must ensure no more damage was one. He had no choice. On the heels of the guilt came a surge of inexplicable anger, until William’s knuckles went white on the arms of the chair against his rising fury.

Christopher arched an eyebrow. “Is there a problem,
Mister
Young?”

The space between William’s eyes throbbed with a single, brilliant pain. He blinked it back, and pressed his lips together until he felt capable of speaking safely.

“No, sir. No problem.”

“Excellent. I will expect something more substantial from you the next time we meet.”

William thought one more time of his work sitting in the cavernous desk drawer. He watched Christopher sip his brandy, and then he removed himself from the chair and smoothed down his jacket.

“Understood,
Director,
” he said, and walked out without waiting to be dismissed.

12.

March 5, 1922

The area along the Liffey docks was a crowded maze of narrow streets and back alleys between the rows of warehouses strung along the quay. William crept along one of these paths, watching David’s back and occasionally glancing into the darkness around them. The alley David led him through was cramped and lightless, lined with assorted rubbish and smelling of fish and piss, biting cold with the wind coming off the river. It was eerily quiet; not a dog barking, not a rodent scurrying, only the occasional muted clang of a far-off buoy’s bell and the faint, constant lapping of water against wood. William shivered in his jacket and tried not to stumble over the uneven cobblestones beneath his feet.

“Come on, Glasgow,” David whispered, and William turned up his collar and kept up the pace.

They emerged from the alley and the river appeared, wide and empty and shining black in the light of a nearly-full moon. Boats of varying sizes stood tied along the wooden docks: fishing skiffs, cargo barges, and ferry tugs, mostly. Other than their hulking shapes, the quay was utterly deserted, only a few streetlamps casting dim circles of light onto the pavement. William looked around, his brow creasing.

“Where are they?” he whispered.

“Right behind you,” said a chipper voice.

Adam approached from a separate path, strolling toward them with his arms crossed against the cold and a smile on his wind-flushed face. Kelly skulked along behind him, shoulders hunched, dark eyes scowling into every corner and open doorway. He had one gloved fist beneath his jacket, gripped around a bulky shape.

David grinned as Adam approached. “Fair night for a stroll, eh Elliot?”

“So it is, Master Murphy, so it is.”

They made no attempt to lower their voices, and William surveyed the area once more. They had passed not a single patrol along the way, and the few beat cops they encountered had tipped their hats and bid them good evening without so much as a second glance.
Nothing will be done to hinder you,
Christopher had said, and it appeared to be true.; still, William couldn’t quite force his shoulders to relax beneath all his layers of clothing.

“Alright, Glasgow?” said Adam. He clapped William on the shoulder, smiling. “Don’t look so tense, mate. There’s nothing to it. A quick shift of boxes and you’ll be warm and snug in your bed before you know it.”

William did not reply; he was watching Kelly peer down the alleys, cigarette dangling from his mouth, his right hand shrouded by the shape in his jacket. Adam shook his head and spoke in William’s ear.

“Pay no mind to him. He always expects the worst
– or hopes for it, more like. Come on.”

William followed them down the quay to a small dock beneath an extinguished street lamp. Two vessels were anchored to the moorings: a smallish skiff, clean but unfancy, with an Irish Tricolour draped from the mast; and a larger, whitewashed cargo ship decorated with several international markings. Both were lit from within.

From the street behind them came a thin grinding noise growing steadily louder
– the sound of an approaching automobile. William turned to see a black Model T lorry pulling up to the dock. It had a large, tarp-covered back and silver-gilt letters painted across the side:
Fisher’s Fine Grocery and Baked Goods.

“There you are, dosser!” Adam called as the lorry’s headlamps went dark. The door opened and Daniel hopped out from the driver’s seat, clad in the same fine gray suit William had last seen him in, his black hair slicked perfectly into place.

“Didn’t have to get all dolled up for us, now, love,” said David. “Though we’re flattered, to be sure.”

“I had an engagement, if you must know,” Daniel replied, dusting off his trousers. “You ought to appreciate the sacrifices I make for you all.”

David shook his head in mock dismay. “Stealing our good Christian women to your heathen charm.”

“I leave that to young Adam here,” grinned Daniel. “He has enough heathen charm for both of us.”

Everyone greeted Daniel warmly, and he shook William’s hand with a pleasant smile. “Hello, Mr. Young. Fine evening for a delivery, isn’t it?”

Despite his tension, William grinned. He liked the Fisher lad very much. “So they tell me.”

“Alright, alright, you lot,” called a voice. “We haven’t got all night, you know. Stop your jabbering and start your lifting.”

Andy stood on the gangplank of his ship, frowning sleepily with his arms crossed against his chest and his breath puffing out in the cold. Beside him stood another man, taller, older, with dark hair slicked back from his forehead and a toothy smile that he flashed at each man in turn.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, in a voice thick with an accent William couldn’t quite place.

“Hans is our contact with the suppliers in Germany,” Adam explained. “Kind of a go-between, like. Hans, this is William. He’ll be helping us out tonight.”

Hans ducked his head politely, and William gave him a nod.

“Right, lovely, we’re all friends, isn’t that grand,” grumbled Andy. “Now let’s get this show on the road so that I can get back to my bed.”

Hans gestured to his cargo hold. “Step into my parlor.”

“Half into my hold and half onto Fisher’s lorry,” said Andy. “Can you manage that without mussing your fine trousers, Danny?”

Daniel was rolling up the tarp on the back of the truck. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re asking for a ride home,” he said, and David and Adam chuckled.

Something clattered in the alley
– every man whirled where he stood. Kelly threw open his jacket and pulled out the rifle he’d been fondling, instantly poised and squinting down the barrel. Adam’s smirk vanished; his face went hard, eyes sharp and glittering, and when the noise came a second time he reached into his coat and withdrew a sawed-off shotgun. He cocked the hammer with one thumb –
chk-chk
. William’s heart began to pound. No one moved or made a sound.

The clattering came again, and a shadow moved along the mouth of the alley. From out of the blackness rolled a small object – a crumpled tin can. Behind it followed a grubby little boy and a small black terrier.

William felt the men relax before he heard their exhaled breaths. Six sets of shoulders dropped in relief as the boy continued kicking his tin along the cobblestones, the dog skipping at his heels. He stopped abruptly when he saw the group, and frowned.

“What you lot doin?”

“Oi, clear out of here, lad,” said Adam. “Tis too late at night for young boys to be out on the streets.”

“You’re out on the streets,” replied the kid, “and you look like a boy to me.”

Daniel snickered.

“Go on, off with you,” Andy called. “Go find someplace else to loiter.”

The boy jerked his chin. “What if I don’t wanna?”

Kelly moved forward, but Adam blocked him with one arm. He stepped out from the group and walked slowly toward the boy, whose eyes went wide when he saw the shotgun clutched in Adam’s fist. With his free hand, Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out a shining coin. He held it in front of the boy’s face, distracting him from the gun. The child looked from him to the others, then at the coin, and gasped.

“Are you outlaws?”

Adam’s face was a grave scowl. “Aye,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “We are. Now clear out of here and tell no one what you have seen this night, and perhaps we will forget that we ever saw
you.
”

The boy’s eyes grew round and enormous. Adam tucked the coin into one filthy little hand and patted him on the head. The child stood there for a moment, awestruck, and then turned and tore off into the night, his dog clambering along behind him.

Adam retained his scowl until the lad was out of sight around the corner, and then it cracked and broke up into a fit of giggles as David, Andy and Kelly all laughed themselves red-faced behind him. Hans and Daniel looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and returned to stacking boxes for loading. William watched them all, still wary, but his tension slowly began to ebb.